The White Death Novels & Stories

In mere seconds, he transformed from a vibrant young man to a gasping old man. "What's happening?!" Betty stumbled back in terror, her heels giving way, and she crashed to the floor. I looked down at Betty and spat, "This is who he really is. Five years ago, he was on death's door with just three months left to live. I was the one who used magic to extend his life, to alter his destiny."

For the first time since everything began to change, I hesitate not because I am afraid of what I might see — but because I am afraid of what I already know. Still, my fingers hover over the deck. A soft glow gathers between the cards, warm and internal, pressing outward through the stack as if something inside them is breathing. Not demanding. Waiting. I swallow and draw from where the warmth is strongest. Death. At first glance, the card is the same. Almost. The armored rider still holds the banner. The horse is still white. The ground beneath its hooves is unchanged. And yet— The horse is no longer charging. It stands.

"Go ahead, he's right there." Aria's eyes followed my gesture, and she erupted, her eyes bulging with fury. "Noelle, that's a hearse! It's meant for the dead. How could you put my son in there? "Have you no humanity? After all the kindness my son showed you!" Feigning confusion, I met Aria's gaze. "Mom, what are you talking about? Hearses are for the dead, and isn't your son, well, dead? I don't see the issue."

Chad’s pov A white wolf... She was a white wolf. I couldn’t believe I rejected a white wolf. Who would have thought that her wolf, of all wolves, would be white? Ever since I found out that she was one, I regretted my rejection. Alana was fine. She lacked experience in the office but was spectacular in bed. I didn’t mind having her. But a white wolf? Being mated to one was a dream. White wolves were the most special since they were so rare. I heard that the royals were all white, but we only heard stories about them. By the time I started to walk, they were all killed. Few white wolves still lived in the north, but they didn’t have special powers like the royals. Either way, white wolves wer

I frowned. “That's right.” The doctor nodded. “It's a surprise you're still alive especially as you do not have a Wolf.” I swallowed hard. My eyes flickered non-stop. So me being alive was a miracle? A rare type at that. “You're really a lucky one. The white wolfsbane is known for killing whoever consumes it within minutes.” Again, I nodded. Stared. There was no doubt I was a lucky breed, considering all that's been happening.” “Like I said, this white wolfsbane can only be afforded by those who are really wealthy.”

“You’re letting someone who spent her life hurting people continue to control you even after she’s dead.” I know.” He sighed. “Then stop.” I looked at him. He pointed toward the journal. “You have something important in front of you now.” My gaze followed his hand. The White Wolf. The babies. The curse. The choice. He stood. “So what are you going to do?” I didn’t answer. He looked toward the speaker. Then back at me. “You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?” I stared at the device. I could hear Traci breathing through another contraction. I could hear Fredrick giving instructions. I could hear Raiden and Zayden beside her. And suddenly the room felt far too small.

he said with a stern expression. My eyes squinted as though I didn’t hear what he had just said. “What do you mean by that?” “Do you know the reason why the white, snow wolves haven’t been seen for over a century?” He asked and I shook my head. “It’s because they were a threat. They had the power to control like alphas and heal like stringent omegas and they bowed to no one and most importantly, their mates died young, which is why the council had them executed years ago” he narrated.

There was a whiteboard hanging on the wall of our house. Written right across the center was a countdown to my end. [Estimated time until Freya's heart failure: 47 days.] Every morning, my mother meticulously wiped away yesterday’s number and wrote down the new one. It was like a countdown for a store clearance sale—precise, detached, and filled with quiet anticipation. My name is Freya Mason, and I’m twelve years old. I was born with a congenital heart defect. The specialists told my family that without a three-million-dollar surgery, I wouldn't survive another six months. My father, Daniel Mason, is worth over two billion dollars. Yet, he looked at my life and said, "Three million do

He had traded our location, and the fragile existence of the unborn Heir inside my womb, to secure his own survival in the new Regency world order. "White ghosts," I whispered, the words freezing in my throat as the dark perimeter of the chamber began to bleach. The escalation was an instantaneous, blinding invasion. From the fractures in the data walls, thousands of high-frequency, sterile pale figures materialized—the specialized extraction avatars of the Sovereign executioners, known across the sectors as the "White Ghosts." They didn't use crude force; they deployed a systemic white-out protocol designed to bleach and erase any corrupted data in the mainframe.

Instead, he cremated them and scattered their ashes into the sea. After receiving the pig kidney transplant, Vivian's body began to reject it violently. She was forced to take large amounts of anti-rejection drugs every day. At the same time, Joel released all evidence of her plagiarism online, clearing my name completely. Her once-loyal fans, upon learning the truth, turned on her in fury. They harassed her relentlessly, threatening and attacking her daily until she no longer dared to leave her home. In the end, she ran out of medication and could not reach a hospital in time. Vivian died alone in her home, her body not discovered until it had already begun to rot.